When Something Like This Happens
by SazMarie
Summary: Lisbon and her team deal with disappearance and death every day, but when something like this happens to them all they can do is try not to break long enough to find Jane. Before it is too late. Jello. Rigspelt.
1. Fault

**When I started this I had a completely different idea but I guess it had a mind of its own. This is the first fanfic I've wrote in a while so I could really appreciate your views and comments to help me out as well as to see if this is worth continuing. **

When something like this happens, one of the first reactions for those involved is to look back and see if there was anything they could have done to prevent it. Some small sign that showed things weren't quite right. But what if it just a random event? When something like this happens most of the time there is no explanation, no warnings before the world comes to a crashing halt. When someone's life is turned upside down so that they're hanging on helplessly, watching everything unfold while they sit alone and afraid, they are desperate to be standing tall once again, taking charge of the situation once more. But that can't happen. They can be strong for others, they can take control when something like this happens to other people, locking away their emotions and pushing aside any personal issues to get the job done. But when something like this happens to themselves it solely is a personal issue ruled by emotions. Normal rules don't apply when something like this happens. Even though they see this happening everyday, see some tragedy strike another, they never expect it to happen to them, especially if their past has already been plagued with sorrow. They think that maybe, just maybe, they will be spared from further pain, but that isn't how the world works and even though they know this deep down, when something like this happens they are not prepared. They could never prepare for something like this, and even if there was a way, they couldn't bring themselves to do so. If they tried to prepare, to anticipate, then that means they were willing to accept that something like this could happen and they could never accept that. Not until it is too late. Not until something like this happens. Not until one they hold dear is ripped away from them.

Not until Theresa Lisbon lost Patrick Jane.

Lisbon would remember what she would tell grieving family and friends. What her team was probably trying to tell her now if only she could listen. The first thought that comes to anyone in this position is what could they have done to stop it happening. Lisbon would sooth and reassure the crying widow, the quiet child or the angry brother that it wasn't there fault, that is wasn't possible that they could have known and rescued the clueless victim from their fate, from getting lost from their loved ones. So why couldn't she follow her own advice? Maybe because she was a trained CBI agent? Maybe because he was snatched from right under her nose? Maybe because it was her words that drove him from his usual sanctuary of the CBI Headquarters?

Lisbon thought it was her fault.

Cho was talking to her now. That was all Lisbon knew. That and the fact that Cho was sitting on _his_ couch. She couldn't hear the words or grasp at any meaning but she saw his lips moving, his hand gently resting on her arm, his eyes trying to reassure her while barely hiding their own grief. Many thought Cho as emotionless, a robot. But Lisbon knew differently. Just because he didn't display his feelings didn't mean he didn't have any carefully locked away. Some may think that this would make Cho harder to read, harder to understand but for Lisbon it made it easier. She had lived and worked around his deadpan expression for so long that even the slightest twitch of his mouth or gleam in his gaze would let her know at once his thoughts. Really he was open as one of his books that littered his desk. You just needed to know the language. And Lisbon did. Lisbon understood the look in his eyes and she briefly closed her own, blocking out the image.

Cho thought it was his fault.

The slight pressure lifting from the couch was enough for Lisbon to know that Cho had left. Left her to grieve, to blame herself. Left her so he could find his own solitude, so he too could blame himself. It was finally the soft moan that roused Lisbon from her blame. Van Pelt sat at _his_ desk as though seeking a closeness to him. Lisbon understood. She herself had been sitting on his couch, clutching the brown leather since they received it. Since she saw it. How she wished she could scrub at her eyes, wipe away the image. And she knew Van Pelt would also give anything to burn the stained memory from her mind. In the brief moment the two women's gazes met Lisbon knew. Grace's eyes held the same haunted look that Lisbon knew she herself had, except the redhead couldn't keep the tears away. Lisbon imagined the memories leaking away from Van Pelt's mind with every tear and she almost wished she could bring herself to cry. But she knew there was nothing she could do to forget. Van Pelt gave another mournful moan as she dropped her eyes, almost shamefully.

Van Pelt thought it was her fault.

The wail brought the last, and with that word Lisbon felt a stabbing pain, member of the team in to play. Rigsby rushed to his love's side, for once not caring about their closeness at work. He shared a simple touch with Grace, their foreheads pressed together as their hands clutched the other, both of them a lifeline for the other. Lisbon wondered why they could be saved when she was left drowning. But she had her chance. She had sent Cho away because she knew. She knew it was her fault no matter how much her team blamed themselves. She deserved to drown alone on his brown leather couch. The leather couch that from this day she swore nobody would use. It would stand lonely but never forgotten as a monument, a reminder to how she failed. And how he paid the price. A crash brought Lisbon eyes back to the couple but she was neither surprised or shocked by the outburst. It was to be expected. She knew Rigsby was troubled by a small part of himself that thrived off his anger and craved for violence. A computer lay at his feet, the same computer that changed their lives only moments before. For a moment Rigsby glanced down at Lisbon, daring her to scold him, but instead she just gave a small satisfied nod before Rigsby turned his attention back to the crumpled machinery.

Rigsby thought it was his fault.

They all blamed themselves but really what good did it do them? All they were doing was sitting around in shock, the missing presence more noticeable than ever. Lisbon slowly rose to her feet, not daring to look back down to the couch fearing the emptiness, and made her way to her office. They did still have a killer to catch and now Lisbon needed to more than ever. For the first time she almost understood her consultant's obsession with his own demon. Now that she had her own devil Lisbon found the idea of killing it, exercising it, surprisingly likeable. She was an officer of the law and had to apply justice, but to banish the devil, well that would be justice, wouldn't it?

Because after all, even though the team all blamed themselves, it was the fault of one man that caused this. One man with a damaged mind, a knife and a video camera.

It was his fault that Patrick Jane was gone, leaving behind his empty couch and a puddle of blood that would forever stain the memory of Theresa Lisbon.

**Okay, this was a very vague opening chapter. Things _might _not be as they appear. From this stage I'm going to go back to before this event, leading up to it as well as what happens afterwards. **


	2. Banished

**Many thanks for all those reviews, story and author alerts. I was a bit nervous about it. I've been a bit of an insomniac recently, strangely since I've started watching The Mentalist obsessively, and this idea has hurriedly typed and posted at three in the morning. So it means a lot to know people do like it and want me to continue.**

_Five Days Earlier. Monday. 11.00PM_

Although the CBI offices are always buzzing with some form of life, as the hours slowly drift by the persistent phone chirping and rapid keyboard drilling is replaced by only a couple of murmured voices and soft scribblings of pen on paper. By this time most agents have gone home, seeking refuge from the horrors of their jobs, if only for a few hours. The ones who remain are mostly the more junior agents, eager to please. Dotted among them are some of the senior teams planning for a big bust or just about to reach a major breakthrough. But the offices of more commanding agents are long since empty, those few having the privilege of office hours. Most of the time.

So when Special Agent Hightower's fast and well known heels clicked down the corridor heads turned in curiosity. Eventually it became obvious to those brave enough to continue watching that she was mad, extremely so. Her usual confident stride replaced by the harsh and demanding pace of a woman with anger suppressed just under the surface.

Jane. Seeing the anger the agents who watched her march knew that only one man could get her this worked up. With their own small smiles they turned back to their work, wondering what the infamous Patrick Jane had done now to have Hightower practically foaming at the mouth. Little did they know that no matter how ordinary this occurrence happened, this time would be different. This would just be the start of of a truly traumatic week. Maybe if they had known they could have stopped her, stopped the events unravelling that would eventually lead to disaster. But they couldn't have known and instead Hightower continued her pace until she was standing outside the door marked as Senior Agent Lisbon's. A brief knock and the commanding agent flung herself in the room, without waiting for an answer.

"Ah, good evening, Ms. Hightower. My, I'm surprised to see you here so late," Jane greeted her in his usual cheery tones from where he was sprawled across the couch in the office. Lisbon was throwing a glare in his direction, but he missed it, still grinning up at the angry woman standing in the door acting oblivious to the scolding bound to come. He knew all too well why the fuming Special Agent was here. Lisbon herself had just been yelling at him about it but now she just sat at her desk, a slightly fearful expression on her face. She had heard her boss's threats many times and by the look in her eye maybe, just maybe, this time Hightower was going to make good on her word.

"You know very well why I'm here, Mr Jane," Hightower responded cooly in her usual authoritative voice. "I've told you, warned you, to stay in line. Not to pull any of your usual stunts. I even threatened Agent Lisbon's job but you obviously don't care much about that, do you?" Here her eyes met with Lisbon's and it was then that she knew for certain that her boss had finally had enough.

"He confessed," Jane pointed out, whining. Now he was sitting up but he was still relaxed, leaning back in the couch not seeing what Lisbon had only moments before. Not seeing that this time maybe he went too far and that fact that they had caught the guy wasn't enough this time. "It didn't go _exactly _to plan but-"

"Didn't go exactly to plan?" Hightower repeated, one eyebrow raised in disbelief, "He had a mental breakdown and took two hostages before we finally had to resort to getting a sniper to stop him. He's now in the hospital and won't be talking for a long time. You said yourself he was unstable but you just had to use one of your elaborate plans. Just had to have your drama." This was the closest the pair had seen Hightower from nearly losing her professional cool. As though sensing this too, the woman stood taller, clearing her throat as she smoothed down her jacket. "Agent Lisbon," she said eventually, her voice now much calmer but just as dangerous.

Lisbon stood up, speaking for the first time, "Ma'am?" Was this really it? Did Jane finally cost her her job? Her green eyes darted to her consultant who finally seemed to be taking things seriously. He said she could trust him, said he would always be there for her, but he had proved time and time again that she was really just a way for him to satisfy his childish needs. Lisbon sighed, internally scolding herself for believing that maybe Jane would change his ways to save her job.

"I have warned you time and time again. Either you control him or you lose your job. You have promised me to keep him in check but you've failed. Again. I have given you chances before when you've slipped but this time the damage is too great," Here Hightower paused as her gaze flickering from Lisbon to Jane and back. For once the pair were silent, and she continued, "I believe your personal feelings have stopped you from rational thinking and maintaining control. Your team is slipping away from you, Agent Lisbon."

"Hold on now," Jane said, standing up from his perch finally, "Lisbon had noth-"

"Jane, shut up," Lisbon hissed from her desk, standing up slowly to cut him off. From past experience she knew that whenever Jane opened his mouth to help it would only backfire and make the hole she was standing in a whole lot deeper.

"Thank you, Agent Lisbon," Hightower said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, stepping forward as though taking back control. "Like I said, you're losing control. Nevertheless, you are a good agent. An excellent agent. Your loss would be a major hit to the CBI." Wait? What? Lisbon snapped her gaze up from her desk. She had been preparing herself for the worst and now she saw a glimmer of hope. "However, I cannot ignore your failings. So you are suspended effective immediately. You will be allowed to return to the CBI after a month suspension. When you return you will not take lead of your unit. Agent Cho will lead until you have proven yourself fit. That will be all."

And just like that she was gone like a hurricane, leaving a silent path of destruction behind her. The rest of the team had assembled silently outside the office door, even Cho ventured from his desk, only to disperse quickly as Hightower emerged. Now they cautiously stepped toward the small office, wary of the silence within. In fact, they feared this silence more than an explosion from Lisbon. That was normal, but this, this wasn't right.

Inside the office, Lisbon stared through the open door, shocked in to stillness. Jane was still standing with his feet shuffling slightly by his couch, his arms tucked behind his back like a naughty schoolboy. For a moment he waited but when it looked like Lisbon wasn't going to speak, he stepped forward, clearing his throat. "Lisbon, I never meant fo-"

"Don't," Lisbon managed to mutter through clenched teeth. It seemed that Jane's word finally propelled her in to action, and she bustled around the office, throwing things violently in to her large work bag. Still she didn't raise her voice or meet Jane's eyes, angry tears threatened to spill out of her own.

"Please, Lisbon, I'm sor-" Again Jane tried, tentatively stepping forward. But this only caused Lisbon to flinch back, finally raising her head as one tear escaped. Angry at herself, Lisbon scrubbed her cheek harshly with the back of her hand.

"Don't you _dare_ apologise to me!" Lisbon's voice finally broke from the hushed anger and for a moment she paused in her frenzied packing to gulp down some air and regain control over her words. "Just get out, Jane," Lisbon said, and when Jane didn't move or respond straight away, again she growled at her consultant, feeling utterly betrayed, "Get out! I don't want you here. Not while I'm packing my office up because of _you_."

"I-" Jane started once again but Lisbon couldn't listen to his insincere apologises. For months, years, Jane had landed her in trouble and he always said sorry, and like the fool she was Lisbon always accepted. But if someone was sorry, shouldn't they make sure it doesn't happen again? It might have taken years but Lisbon had finally had enough.

"I said I don't want you here," Lisbon hissed, "Go."

"Theresa, please," Jane said in little more than a whisper. He never meant for this to happen. It seemed whenever he got close to someone he would betray them in one way or another. How could he do this? He knew the job was everything to Lisbon. She had worked hard for years to get to her current rank in the CBI and for that to be taken away by him made Jane feel sick.

"Bite me," Lisbon huffed, throwing herself down in to her, no Cho's office seat. She wondered how long she had to clean through the room before Hightower threw her out on her ass. In a defeated voice, Lisbon said, "Please, Jane, just go."

Nodding to himself, Jane backed out of the room, his guilt barely hidden on his face. He could feel the team's eyes on him, accusing him, and Jane slowly drudged out of the building.

The team watched him go as Lisbon sat in her office, pulling her scotch bottle from her desk drawer. None of them knew that that was the last time they would see Patrick Jane.

**Yeah, nothing has really happened and I'm sure you're all very bored by this time. I was going to end with the... thing happening , but the chapter just dragged too long so it'll be at the start of the next chapter. I promise I'll try my best to liven things up!**


	3. Taken

**It really makes me smile to see that people are interested and enjoying my writing, so much so that I'm getting weird looks from my mam for sitting grinning at my netbook. It really motivates me to write more, especially after doubting myself. So to say thank you I wanted to get this chapter up extra quick. I hope you enjoy :) **

The walk out of the CBI building was a long one. It seemed that everyone was watching for him, waiting to see Jane after witnessing Hightower bustle out of the offices after what must have been a very quick scolding. A few called out to him jokingly as Jane passed by, his feet dragging with his stride missing its usual cheer. When the consultant didn't stop for the normal banter, still racked with too much fresh guilt to allow him to put on his carefree act, whispers and gossip started up. Even after a failed Red John case Patrick Jane always had a small smile or a witty comment. Now he just trudged by, his hands shoved in to his trouser pockets.

"Hey, Mr Jane." A cheery voice broke Jane's silent stride and only now did he realise he had just stepped out in to the parking lot. Blame and doubt buzzed in his head, making Jane distracted and miss things, important things. As he looked up to greet the elderly security guard tiredly something snagged in the back of his mind. Something wasn't right.

Sighing, Jane just figured his messed up thoughts were making him see things that weren't there. Little did he know that it reality they were making him blind. So Jane stepped up, a shadow of his famous smile on his lips. "Hey, Jerry. You still here? I thought you'd have rushed off home to see that lovely missus of yours as soon as the clock tolled eleven," Jane said, referring to the security guard's end of shift. Jane was trying to fit back in to place the mask that slipped. The mask that hid all of his inner turmoil; his self-hatred, guilt and grief. But the recent blow just made it that little harder to slip in to his usual charade.

It seemed that the security guard picked up on this as he squinted at the younger man. "Aye, well I hoped to get home after she went to bed. Bless her heart, she always fixes me up a plate of leftovers when the boys come round and she cooks for them. But if I remember rightly, tonight was meatloaf and my stomach would be mighty thankful if I managed to skip that." Jerry joked and the two men shared a small chuckle, Jane's more forced than natural. "You alright, Mr Jane?" Jerry asked suddenly with a small twinkle in his eye, "You fell out with that pretty lady friend of yours again?"

Jane had to smile at that. For years now the relationship he had with Lisbon had been a bit of a joke between him and the friendly security guard. Jerry would always tease him, accuse him of pulling his crush's pigtails in the playground for lack of a better phrase. Jane would always laugh it off but he always wondered if there was some wisdom behind the old man's words. "You could say that," was all Jane would say before strolling toward his car. "Goodnight, Jerry," Jane said, raising his hand to wave without looking back. He heard the guard call a farewell back before climbing in to his own car and driving away, leaving Jane suddenly very alone with nothing but his thoughts. Something the mentalist tried to avoid. At all costs.

He had just rounded a row of cars, humming at tune to himself cheerfully to stop himself from dwelling on his thoughts, when Jane suddenly stopped and looked around. He had that feeling again, the feeling that he was missing something, that something was wrong around him. But all that was around him was a vast parking lot, mostly empty, with a few cars clustered together in small groups dotted around the lot. These cars tended to belong to people of the same team, and they would park close to each other for ease. Jane's own little civilian car was parked quite far back from the others, alone.

His quick survey came up with nothing, but Jane still felt that he had seen something important but couldn't place it. But it couldn't be serious, could it? He was in the secure CBI grounds after all and he has always been a little bit paranoid. His physical and emotional tiredness was probably just kicking it in to overdrive. Maybe. Possibly.

So Jane continued his lone walk to his car, his eyes skipping over the shadows and bunched cars. The silly childhood belief floated in to his head, that if he can't see it, it can't see him. But that was ridiculous. And the only reason he hadn't stopped to inspect the shadows was the fact that he was safe. He must be in the CBI parking lot. There wasn't an it to be looking for. It was just silly superstition. At least that was what Jane reasoned to himself.

He just reached another cluster of cars close to his own when he heard it. This time he knew something was wrong. There was a clear noise, a movement somewhere close by. Jane cursed himself internally to get so close to potential danger, after all why would someone be sneaking around a secure CBI property? He should have paid closer attention. Now he stood, frozen, his ears straining to pick up another noise. When time passed with nothing but silence, Jane again tried to shake off his instinctive paranoia. After all, it was most likely to be a small animal or a piece of rubbish in the wind than a shadowy stalker.

Maybe if he continued listening he would have heard the gentle footfall behind him. Maybe he would have turned around before they were too close. Maybe he could have stopped the metal rod swinging toward him that he just managed to see as a big blur filling up his vision before the impact. Maybe he could have stopped the pain blossomed fiercely across his forehead. But that pain did stop soon enough as Patrick Jane found himself falling as a thick curtain was pulled across his vision, darkening the world around him with streaks of red splattered the blackness.

Rigsby jogged down the CBI stairwell two steps at a time. For a couple of weeks now, since the breakup, Rigsby found himself using the stairs more and more, especially when leaving at the same time as Van Pelt. Grace. It still pained him inside that she had chosen to break off their relationship. Of course he smiled and nodded in understanding, showing everyone that he was moving on. And in a way he was. But he would always love her. And he knew she had deep feelings for him. She just had a couple of issues to sort through. And after that, Rigsby knew they would end up together.

But until then things between them were still awkward. Being forced in to a small space with her alone with no means of escape would just make things even more tense. And then it also brought back a particularly nice memory of a moment the two shared in that elevator which wouldn't really help him out in the current situation.

And then there was the fact that he was angry. Angry at Jane and himself. He knew that he had problems with his rage, how sometimes he hardly kept it under control. And he knew that exercise and keeping active, always doing something, helps. So when he heard that Jane had cost Lisbon her job, and that he could have stopped it because he didn't keep a close enough eye on Jane, Rigsby knew he would be taking the stairs down to ground level, regardless if he left at the same time as Grace or not.

But when he reached the parking lot he was still bristling. It had been a long day with a mentally unstable murderer getting provoked by Jane until he took two hostages and got himself hospitalized after a sniper took a shot at him. And if Rigsby didn't let Jane run off with one of his usual idiotic plans none of it would have happened.

"Damn it," Rigsby muttered to himself, shoving his hands deep in his pockets as he started an angry stride toward his car. It wasn't until he was halfway across the lot that his head snapped up as though he sensed something. In reality Rigsby didn't even know what had caused his sudden attention, just something wasn't right. His eyes roamed the nearly empty parking lot and was surprised to spot that old powder blue car he knew to be Patrick Jane's. For a moment Rigsby stood, his forehead knitted together in confusion. Jane had left long before him after he was practically kicked out by Lisbon. Why was his car still here?

With the sense of something not being right, Rigsby considered quickly jogging over, just to have a peek at the car. But the part of him that was still angry at Jane convinced him not to, after all, Jane was a big boy and could look after himself. Mostly. And he was known for randomly strolling around town, though admittedly, he did this through the day when the team had nothing better to do than paperwork. No, Rigsby convinced himself, he's fine.

And with that, Rigsby turned his back on the lone blue car and clambered in to his own. The engine roared defiantly in the silent parking lot and then suddenly he was gone.

If he had ventured over, it wouldn't have taken the agent long to spot a small pool of blood glistening in the weak parking lot light. Discovering this, Rigsby would have drawn his gun and proceeded to follow the tiny specks of blood leading to the blue car he had just been inspecting. Coming close a shadow would have suddenly jumped out at him, wielding a long metal bar. Seeing the crazed look on the familiar face and vicious attack, Rigsby would have had no choice but to make the shot. Then the man would have fell to the floor and in a moment Rigsby would have stared at the crumpled body, in confusion and shock, before remembering the consultant. In a matter of seconds Rigsby would have found Jane hidden behind his own car, dazed but fine. Coming out of a state of unconsciousness Jane would have smiled up at Rigsby and wiped the small but fairly deep cut on his forehead. He would have been safe. Alive.

But Rigsby didn't do that. Rigsby left and a few minutes after his departure the shadows moved. A figure peeked out from it's hiding place before fishing around in the unconscious Jane's pockets. Finding the keys, they shoved them in to the car doors and piled Jane in to the back seat, smothering his face with a chemical soaked cloth to ensure the mentalist didn't wake on their journey. After they made sure their passenger was hidden, they climbed in to the car themselves, behind the wheel. Escaping from near exposure meant they were suddenly feeling untouchable and carefree. Laughing slightly, they started up the car and drove away from the CBI with no great haste and no fear.

They were safe.

**And that is why Rigsby blames himself. Well, you like? Okay, so you can't really like Jane getting kidnapped, but good chapter? I want to quickly point out that I know Rigsby and Grace were together in the first chapter. I haven't made an oopsie with them being apart in this chapter. Trust me, it'll all work out :) **


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